Divine Calling
by Admiral Ahou
Summary: Mehrunes Dagon has been defeated! Peace returns to Cyrodiil after a year of constant battle against the forces of Oblivion. But at what cost? Follow the fate of the Hero of Kvatch after the fall of Oblivion's forces. Where will his destiny lead him now?
1. Prologue

_Author's note: Hello, and thanks for reading. I have restarted work on this story and will be publishing much more frequently. Therefore, I decided to delete the previous one and start from scratch since this version has a lot of changes from the previous one. To anyone that was kind enough to read and leave reviews, I apologize for deleting the last one and I hope you will read and bear with me as the story progresses._

**Prologue: The end of an Era**

Mehrunes Dagon was rampaging! The sheer joy and elation he felt was unimaginable. After many millennia of planning, careful machinations, and despite all the pitfalls during the execution of his schemes, he had finally breached the barriers between Oblivion and Mundus! Tamriel was now his for the taking, for what mortal could hope to oppose the might of a Daedric Prince? He destroyed wantonly and whatever he struck stayed broken. The falling stones brought him such joy that his laughter shook the very ground. Men and women were crushed under his heels, the cries of the pitiful mortals taking him to a new height of pleasure. His minions were having fun as well. The Valkynaz had given up on ordering the March and instead joined them in cutting things down with abandon. The entire plaza was filled with the blood and screams of mortals. Oh, how he would enjoy destroying this rigid plane of existence. Dagon roared in joy once more and swung his club at the large structure in front of him. That one building was giving him some trouble and that vexed him. He put all his might into another swing of the club and felt the stone give way. Dagon laughed as he peered inside. Two puny mortals were standing inside. They never ceased to amuse him. What could they possibly be planning, just by themselves?

And then the Dragon appeared, wreathed in golden flame and with a roar so mighty that even Dagon quailed. His erstwhile joy soon turned to rage- rage so blinding that Dagon's eyes were literally shrouded by the mists of anger. "Au'Riel!" he screamed, swinging his spiked club at the avatar of the Aedra. How dare he interfere in the moment of his victory? Those puny mortals! That bastard of the last Septim and his lackey that had been a constant thorn in his side had unlocked the true potential of their accursed amulet. "Au'Riel!" he screamed in rage once more.

Dagon felt a sudden sting in his foot as something puny pricked through his otherwise invincible sinew and cut him. He roared and kicked out. "Impudent mortals!" he raged. First he had to deal with the dragon. It was only an avatar of Au'Riel. Not the Aedra himself. Dagon laughed uproariously. He had become angry over nothing. The dragon had taken flight now but hovered over the broken structure it had emerged from. Dagon swung his club at its head, but the strike was parried by one of its winged talons. The dragon let out a mighty roar and something about that cry unnerved the Daedric lord, and in that moment of indecision, Au'Riel's avatar struck. Flaming jaws tightened around his throat and tore out the flesh from his neck. Dagon stumbled backwards. He couldn't believe it! This was not supposed to happen. "NO!" he tried to scream but he found that he had no voice. His form in Mundus was as static as the world. He saw the dragon raise its head in a terrifying cry and then it breathed fire. The holy flame of the Aedra washed over him, burning his very existence from Nirn.

With an unmatched fury, Dagon threw a silent curse at the mortals. Especially at the wretched Septims and that accursed man they called 'Hero'. "I shall yet have my revenge, puny mortals!" his mind raged, "Mehrunes Dagon will not be defeated by your ilk!" And with that final thought, Dagon was lost to the waters of Oblivion as his corporeal form crumbled on Nirn.

"Huzzah! Huzzah!"

The people's cries rose up from outside the temple. "Hail Martin Septim! Long live the Septims!" He stumbled back against the nearest wall and slid down to the floor, all the strength in him drained away as the skies cleared and a bright sun shone through the broken roof. The avatar of Akatosh towered over him- a lasting monument to their victory and to their loss. He should have been happy. He should have been laughing or weeping or dancing, whatever in blazes the rest of Cyrodiil was doing outside, but he wasn't. All he could feel was the loss, a hollow space inside him where the hope of victory had hung just that morning. His limbs felt like lead as he sat watching the petrified form of the roaring Dragon. By the Nine, he had just seen with his own eyes one of the gods he served. Akatosh, the Aedra that ruled over time, the eternal dragon! Why was he so fixed on his loss?

Martin's final words still resonated in his ears. It was almost as if the man was still standing by his side. The doors burst open and High Chancellor Ocato rushed in, followed closely by Baurus. The stalwart blade's sword arm was broken and he nursed it but his face showed no pain, only joy. "Brother Valorus!" he called out, "Where is Lord Martin? I cannot believe we won!" Ocato, who was staring in awe at the statue turned towards him now. "Where is the Emperor?" It was a hopeful question but his voice betrayed his fears. Valorus felt even more drained. He lifted his hand and pointed at the dragon, unable to even look at it. Baurus fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "No, no, no!" he wept, "Why? We won! What victory is this?"

Grandmaster Jauffre limped in supported on both sides by Captains Stephan and Jena. The old man had lost his entire right leg and from the way he winced with each movement, it was clear that he had broken several ribs. He slid down next to Valorus, propping himself up against the wall with a grunt. For a few moments they sat like that. Valorus finally raised his head and looked up at the dragon. It was bathed in the glorious sunlight and looked every bit as majestic as the avatar itself. "Beautiful, isn't he?" said the old warrior quietly. Valorus felt his own eyes betray him with tears. Others were joining them now in the temple, most of the new arrivals too stunned to even continue cheering. Everyone knelt before the statue in awed reverence and the silence was broken only by Baurus' sobbing. Jena brought him back to where all the surviving Blades were gathered around Valorus and Jauffre.

Ocato walked up to the gathering and stood before them, directly below the avatar. "Good people of the Empire!" he addressed them solemnly, "We are at the end of an era. Witness the might of the Septim bloodline! Here before you, stands the avatar of Akatosh. This statue, an eternal reminder of our salvation, is Martin Septim's final resting place. Through his sacrifice, we live to see another day. Strength was in him that has not been seen since the days of Tiber Septim himself! Alas, what an Emperor he would have made. We can only marvel at the courage, the strength and the sacrifices of this great man and his loyal blades. Long will they be known as heroes of this land." He continued, "One of whom, especially that I must mention. Valorus Maximus, Hero of Kvatch. Strange have been the events of this age and as befitting to one who took the fight to Oblivion itself on His Majesty's behalf, I name you Champion of Cyrodiil! Long may your name be sung across the Empire!"

The people cheered loudly for their heroes and took up the cry. "Long live the Septims! Long live the Blades! Long live Valorus Maximus! Huzzah!" Jauffre was smiling, but his eyes held back tears. Valorus remained silent. He did not care for their accolades. For over a year, he had worked with Martin and the rest of the Blades to protect the Empire. He had laughed with them, sang with them, and fought with them. Now it was time to mourn with them. He was through and through, the Emperor's man- a Blade; a Blade that failed in his most basic duty- to protect the Emperor at all costs. What did he care for their petty titles or fancy armour? Long live the Septims? The Septim bloodline had ended! He saw that Jena and Baurus shared his feelings. The three of them rose wordlessly, carrying their broken master between them, and left the building. The rest of the Blades followed suit without a question. There were so few of them left. No words were exchanged as they began their weary journey back to Cloud Ruler Temple. Valorus' prized weapons, gifts from the capricious Daedric princes, lay forgotten somewhere in the temple. The only weapon the Blades took with them was a simple silver longsword- the one Martin had borne. And so, without formalities, the Blades retreated to their keep. To nurse wounds, to shed tears and to keep watch until the next Dragonborn rose up to lead them.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Madman**

"Captain Lex! Captain Lex!" the young page rushed after the Captain of Anvil's guards. "Please sir, wait!" The boy kept pleading but he could neither catch up to nor get the attention of Hieronymus Lex. The Captain was one headstrong man. Who in Anvil did not know of his history? He was the man that had dedicated his life to just one thing- catching the Grey-Fox. And then in a strange turn of events, he was made Captain of Anvil's palace guards, effectively ending his sole mission in life. Some said that it was the Grey-Fox himself that had Lex removed from the Imperial Watch in order to protect his people in the Waterfront district. But of course, there was nothing the poor Captain could do because as much as he desired to bring the Fox to justice, that was no longer his duty. He had been rather withdrawn in the first few weeks of his service but it seemed like he was slowly getting over his fixation with the Grey-Fox, and in the three years since his transfer Captain Lex had become, in all, a content man.

However, when the Grey-Fox showed up in his jurisdiction, right here in Anvil, then it became an entirely different matter. Lex thanked the Nine as he rushed to the Dockside where he heard the Grey-Fox had been spotted by one of his spies. "This time you're mine, foul demon!" he growled and picked up his pace so as to get away from the annoying page. It appeared that he had never really gotten over his self appointed mission, but simply repressed his urges to go chasing after the master thief in order to perform his duties in Anvil. Now that the Grey-Fox had slipped up and stumbled into his backyard, Lex was free to give in to those urges to chase after the infamous criminal.

The guard at the Dockside gates fumbled and knocked himself over when he saw his Captain come up the street at breakneck speed, yelling for the gates to be opened. By the time the man had picked himself up and opened the gates, Lex had his greatsword out and was swearing bloody murder at him. The slight delay allowed the young page to finally catch up to the Captain. "Captain, sir, please!" he beseeched, "I have an urgent message from M' Lord the Count!" Lex growled at the boy, "WHAT?" The breathless boy cringed but collected himself, "M'Lord asks that you do not give chase to wild rumours without consulting him first. He says that he has proof that the Grey-Fox is merely a myth." Lex's fury burst out in the form of a vicious punch and the hapless messenger went flying. The gatekeeper was stunned but got back to getting the gate open before the Captain unleashed his fury on him. When the gates were finally opened, Lex rushed out, boiling with righteous fury and the gatekeeper scampered to see if the boy was still alive. A woman at the end of the pier nodded at the lighthouse when Lex came into view and he took off again in the direction she had indicated. "SHOW YOURSELF, GREY-FOX!" he cried out as he neared the building. His eyes widened as he finally came face to face with his nemesis at the base of the lighthouse. Right there, before him stood the Grey-Fox.

"YOU! I spent my entire career in the Imperial City chasing you!" Lex shouted, "And now, finally, the Gods bring you right here to my doors! Prepare to die, scum!" With that he charged at the masked figure, not intending to give him a chance to escape. So torn with rage was the Captain that his eyes did not register the fact that the Grey-Fox was surprisingly short, or that he seemed to have the body of a child. "DIE!" he shouted and brought his sword down upon the head of the "Grey-Fox". A woman screamed from somewhere nearby and a child started crying in fear. Only then did Lex notice that instead of cleaving his enemy in half, his sword had stopped mid swing and wouldn't budge another inch. Surprised, the Captain looked again to see a child lying right under his sword weeping his eyes out, a silken grey mask at his side. Realization dawned on him and he let go of his sword, falling to his knees. A hard kick from an invisible boot caught him directly in the nose and he fell back with a cry as blood splattered down his face. His sword that had remained in mid air began to crumble and a human figure in tattered clothes slowly appeared right in front of him. The man was holding the blade with a bloody hand but the crazed look in his eyes as he walked towards the grovelling Captain was not one of pain. Lex was losing a lot of blood and his head started spinning, but more than anything, he was ashamed of himself. He acted on a bad tip and allowed his personal vendetta to cloud his judgement- not for the first time either. He felt that he no longer had the right to serve under the Count or even call himself a man. As the raging figured neared him, Lex closed his eyes and accepted the end. With the first punch, he lost consciousness and felt the embrace of the darkness envelop him.

When he opened his eyes, it took him a moment to remember what had transpired before he lost consciousness. At first he was shocked that he was still alive- for in the eyes of that man, he had seen his death. Shock soon turned to shame when he remembered what had caused the man to attack him. "So, you're finally awake", came a familiar voice from nearby. "My Lord!" Lex exclaimed and tried to sit up, but he found that his body would not move as he wished. Neither did his words come out as he intended. The Count's face came into view as the man walked to the foot of the Captain's bed. Lex couldn't understand why he couldn't see well enough or stand up. He wasn't in any pain. The Count understood his confusion and spoke, "You have been given a powerful draught to nullify your senses. Remain still or it may wear off. I do not think you would want that." Lex didn't understand but he registered the sense of disconnection with his body and obeyed. "My Lord, forgive me." He mumbled to the Count, "I have brought shame to myself and to Anvil. I ask to be relieved of my position and tried for my actions."

The Count was silent, so Lex tried to turn and face him. Through his hazy vision, Hieronymus Lex could make out very vaguely that the Count looked pained. "Please my Lord.." he began but the Count raised a hand, motioning him to be silent. Lex stopped speaking and waited for an answer. The Count fiddled with his thumbs for a while and then finally spoke, "As for your request, there is no easy way to say this, but you have already been relieved. You can never wield arms again."

Lex laid his head back on the pillow and sighed. It wasn't all that bad. He could still make a living as a farmer or a fisherman. Perhaps it would do him some good to leave behind the city and work closer to the earth. He had heard from a friend that tilling soil is a hard but rewarding labour, and the harvest season was ten times more joyful than the rest after a day's hard work. Lex thought he could find peace of mind in such simply pleasures.

"Lex.." the Count's trembling voice broke through the ex-Captain's thoughts. Something about the Count's tone awakened a fear in Lex's groggy mind. "Lex I'm so sorry. I tried to stop you, but perhaps I should have told you the truth. Perhaps all this could have been avoided if I had." Said the Count in a tearful whisper and with that he was gone, leaving the Ex-Captain to his own devices.

His fear now got the better of him and Lex tried to lift his hands to rub the haze out of his eyes. "Darn potion.." he swore as he realized his hands wouldn't move. What was the Count's secret? What did he know of the Grey-Fox that Lex himself didn't? He tried to move his feet, but they wouldn't respond either. In fact, the draught was so effective he couldn't even feel his limbs anymore. A chill ran down the Ex-Captain's spine as those words sunk in.

He couldn't feel his limbs.

It was as if they simply did not exist. "H-Hey!" he tried to call out but his voice came out in a mere whisper. "I-Is th-there a healer here?" Lex tried to shift his weight but it was hard, since he couldn't use his arms or legs to give him leverage. He craned his neck left and right to rock his body about. As his weight shifted, a sudden pain in his shoulder brought Lex's vision flooding back, and with it came a pain so unbelievably powerful that the veteran soldier screamed and wept in agony. Though his vision had been returned from the draught's effect being lost, he almost couldn't see through the pain. What little he did make out horrified him so much that he lost his voice for a moment. "MY LEGS! MY ARMS!" he cried as he saw the cause of his pain, "GIVE THEM BACK! YOU DEMON!" Lex wept uncontrollably as the stubs that once were his powerful limbs came into full view. The physical pain he felt was nothing compared to the fear that now coursed through him. His screaming brought three of the healing mages rushing in and when they tipped a flask to his lips, Lex drank the drought gratefully and allowed the bliss of sleep to wash over him. Compared to an existence such as this, eternal sleep would have been more welcome.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Brothers**

Masser was waxing in the sky and the paths were well lit this night. Baurus took another sip of the flask and led his horse towards the white structure of the Ayleid ruin clearly visible against the falling landscape. He looked at his map and checked the name of the ruin. "Yep, I guess this is Beldaburo." He remarked to himself. The sounds of waves crashing in upon the rocks soothed his nerves. The Abecean Sea! He had never been to these parts of Cyrodiil before, though the condition was less than appropriate, he appreciated the view nonetheless. The water swayed in the distance as far as the eye could see, and the waves near the shore were stronger. The twin moons reflected on the rippled surface looked absolutely breathtaking when viewed directly in the starlit sky. He stood there for a moment with his eyes closed and let the breeze wash over. This was the peace they had fought so hard to protect. This moment was worth every sacrifice they had made in that year. He stopped short in that thought- "Not every sacrifice", he corrected himself.

Securing his steed to a sturdy tree nearby, Baurus took down his camping equipment and began the process of pitching his tent. It wasn't any regular tent that Baurus carried though. Adorned with the crest of the Septims, and carrying an Imperial flag at its tip, it was the most ostentatious tent Baurus had ever used. Despite having slept in it for three months already, Baurus still felt his face grow hot in embarrassment while he set it up. He had always been a simple man, content with serving his Emperor and doing it in anonymity too. He had considered it his greatest honour when Captain Renault specifically asked for him to help protect the Emperor on that ill fated day four years ago. Still, for the sake of a brother, Baurus was prepared to walk around the Imperial City in his small clothes- if it came to that.

He quickly said a silent prayer to Talos, asking that it wouldn't come to that.

Two months after Martin's passing, Grandmaster Jauffre too had passed away and with his final breath, he had named Brother Valorus the next Grandmaster. As usual, Valorus had not said a word, which did not surprise anyone. Martin's death had affected Valorus the most. The two had been almost like brothers and since the day the Blades returned to Cloud Ruler Temple, Valorus had almost never spoken a word to anyone. Most of his time was spent in silent contemplation on the battlements or long trips into the wilderness and he only ever entered through the side doors of the keep- almost as if he was avoiding the great hall altogether. Perhaps he could not suffer entering that room and not seeing Martin at his spot at the table in the middle of the hall. And then, two days after Jauffre's body was interred, Valorus had gone missing. His horse had been left in the stables and all his possessions remained in his room. This was unprecedented- the Blades had never had a Grandmaster simply run away. They sent out messages to all the cities asking for information to be relayed back to them if someone fitting Valorus' description had been spotted. Unfortunately, Valorus was incredibly skilled in turning himself invisible from having had to constantly evade Daedra in the planes of Oblivion during the crisis and all their efforts went in vain.

When it seemed that all hope was lost, the Blades decided to name the next highest in the chain of command as their new Grandmaster. For the duration of his office, Grandmaster Steffan had managed to keep them going but even he had done little more than step up the search for their missing comrade. They had not recruited anyone into the order and The Keep was in a bad state. Then, about two years after Valorus left, they heard the terrible tale of Hieronymus Lex of Anvil and how a man materialized out of thin air and proceeded to tear the Ex-Captain limb from limb with his bare hands. All the Blades had agreed that if there was someone else in Tamriel capable of such a thing besides Brother Valorus, they were in for a new crisis. However, their suspicions were confirmed when there was an actual report of a man who tore through an Ayleid ruin like a demon and destroyed an entire clan of marauders singlehandedly. One of the marauders, a young boy had been left untouched and following that incident several more reports began to surface of a lone raider in the Ayleid ruins in the South-West portion of Cyrodiil.

Putting all of their hopes into one course of action, Captain Jena and now recently self-demoted Captain Steffan had hatched a plan to visit every Ayleid ruin in search of their brother. They were now more confident that he had not become the demon everyone made him out to be and Captain Steffan seemed to be filled with a vigour he had lacked during his time as Grandmaster. Responsibility did not agree with him. However, much to Baurus' chagrin, part of their plan involved pitching tents bearing the Imperial crest outside Ayleid ruins in the hope of drawing Valorus out to them. So far, none of the Blades that had embarked on the quest were successful. He was either staying away purposefully, or they were looking for him in the wrong places. "Perhaps they ought to spread their search out wider?" Baurus mused.

"Baurus.." a voice called from outside the tent, leaving the veteran warrior shivering in fear. It was a voice he well remembered but the sensations from hearing it was completely different from back then. During the Oblivion crisis, hearing Valorus' roar would raise his spirits to the point where Baurus himself could match Daedra in battle. Now, however, the soft call chilled him to his core with fear. He saw the silhouette of the man outside the tent framed in the moonlight as the sea's soothing sounds turned ominous.

The tent's flap opened and the familiar face of Valorus Maximus entered. Baurus felt a pang of guilt at his own reaction. This man was a brother who had been unable to deal with the losses they had suffered and instead of supporting him, they all feared him. Valorus sat in a corner of the tent, his head bowed. He looked the same as Baurus remembered, but there was something different about him. His hair was longer and unkempt, his clothes were in tatters and there were numerous scars on his wrists. It was painful to see the Champion of Cyrodiil reduced to such a state. "Are you hungry brother? I have some stew ready if you would like." Baurus asked, gathering up his wits and deciding to take the initiative. "No." Valorus replied, "I want you to return to Cloud Ruler Temple."

"Very well," Baurus said, "Come then, let us be on our way. I will send birds to the others-"

"Without me."

Baurus was taken aback by his reply. Valorus, though the newest member, had been every bit a Blade as the rest of them and was even recognized as their Grandmaster. For him to forsake his own comrades and his duty.. This was so unlike the man that had gone unhesitatingly into the dreaded planes of Oblivion over and over three years ago. "What has happened to you, brother?" Baurus asked, "I know it hurts, we are all hurting but we must pull through together. Our duty as Blades is to await the next Drago-"

"NO!"

Valorus stood abruptly, yelling in a burst of anger and his magicka began going out of control. Sparks flew from the warrior's fingertips and the inside of the tent began to heat up. "When the next Dragonborn comes, you will leave him be. You will let him live a normal life." He said with a menacing tone in his voice, "And if you don't, I will wipe out the Blades by my own hands." Baurus fell back in shock at the power of his words. The murderous intent emanating from the man was unbelievably strong. Baurus realized that each passing second was a new nail in his coffin, so he did the unthinkable. He turned and ran out of the tent, up the hillock behind the ruin, and he kept running until he felt his legs give way. How long he lay there, he did not know. The stars seemed to mock his cowardice and Masser shone all the more brighter as if to say, "Here is Baurus the coward- watch him run!" He hid his face in shame and wept bitter tears of loss. He could not believe what had just happened. As the night waned, Baurus fought against the treacherous sleep that threatened to overtake him and leave him a target for any wild beast that passed by- or for a former comrade.

When the sun finally rose he slowly made his way back to the campsite, hoping that Valorus would not be there and sure enough, the site was empty. The tent was burnt down to nothing more than a pile of ashes. His horse was tethered a little further away from where Baurus had left it- it was all too confusing for the poor Blade. The man would threaten a comrade with murder and proceed to burn down his tent but cared enough to move the steed? His horse whinnied in annoyance as Baurus walked up, shivering in fright at the tent's condition. He packed up as quickly as possible and set off back to the keep, completely defeated. Brother Valorus was lost to them- the Blades would have to move on without him.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Lucidity**

Everything was burning. The land was aflame, trees stood charred from the fires that constantly ravaged their dead remains, even the water was fire.

The Deadlands of Dagon were hell itself and for one man, they were an endless torture where his dreams would invariably take him to relive the horrors he strove so hard to repress. He was always alone there. There were no Daedra left to kill, no people to rescue, no Sigil Stone in the towers. Just him, and the flame.

And it went on and on into the distance as far as his eye could see. He no longer knew if these were just dreams or if he were actually wandering the planes of Oblivion in his sleeping hours. Then again, he no longer knew which the dream was and which reality was. They were all the same mixture of hazy visions and pain to him. He was the only thing that remained the same everywhere.

Valorus rose from where he lay and looked around. His vision was clouded as if there was a layer of film over it. He felt that there were moments when he could see well but his memory was as hazy as his vision. "Baurus.." he muttered. Was it a dream he saw? Did he really threaten his one-time comrade with death? No, it wasn't his imagination- all his dreams consisted of wandering the Deadlands. Never once had he seen a living being or the shade of one as vividly as he saw Baurus. The scars on his wrist hurt ad he saw that he had new cuts. "Good" he thought to himself, "There is at least one sensation that I retain." He no longer remembered how long it was since that day in the plaza. Days? Weeks? Months? Years? It no longer even mattered. He had seen the avatar of Akatosh but what good had the Aedra done? He couldn't even protect Martin- just one man. What good were the gods? Valorus shook his head. He didn't understand what he was thinking about. It was he that had failed- not Akatosh.

A sound in the distance caught his attention. It sounded like there was someone else in the Deadlands with him this time. This was different from the usual. He started to walk towards the source of the noise. Perhaps he could ask for directions? He laughed at the thought; then stopped himself. That was not a healthy laughter. What was it that disturbed him? He looked to his right and saw another form walk by his side. He stopped and stared at that form and it stared back. He raised his hand and it raised its hand as well. Valorus flew into a fury and launched himself at the other, but there was nothing for him to strike. He fell through thick smoke and kept falling. "Curses!" he mused as he fell. "Now I can't find out who made that noise."

He hit the ground with a sickening thud and the pain made his head reel. "Ugh.." he muttered sitting up. He was sleepwalking again. The heat that blazed around him was gone, replaced with the cool night air of the Sea. The soothing sounds of the waves crashing upon the rocks calmed him a little. He recognized the pleasant scent of the trees near the Abecean coastline. Anvil was nearby, he smiled. Even though his memory was faulty he retained all his faculties. There was not a single area of Cyrodiil he had not visited during his year and more of fighting the accursed Daedra. Each city he visited had been under constant threat; each settlement had all its men patrolling the perimeters at all times; and sometimes even the women. Even so the Daedra had attacked and plundered and razed. They had caused innumerable losses with their wanton destruction. He had suffered with the people. He had seen the effects of their raids with his own eyes. Children weeping, lovers crying, mothers sobbing, brothers dying, fathers rotting-

"AAAAAAAAAGGGHHHH!"

He screamed, sitting up suddenly. The memories were too much to handle. Something in him snapped and the primal fear of death overtook him. The night air was torn by his pained howl. Birds and beasts alike fled in terror at that ungodly scream. Valorus' mind was racing with fear, he had not felt this sort of fear when he had fought countless times against the hordes of Oblivion, but now he had no control over himself. His fear, his anger, and his sorrow were all out of his control. His body was in spasms, and he was quickly losing breath. Death. Death! DEATH! That was all he could think of. How everything succumbed to unceremonious ends ill befitting of themselves, how it was all pointless in the face of death, how inevitable that complete oblivion was. In a fit of defensive panic, he let out a massive surge of pure magicka, hoping that it would protect him against whatever foe that had triggered his panic.

A massive explosion nearby brought him back to his senses. He fell to his knees, the surroundings illuminated by the massive blaze that was in front of him now. He looked around and saw the Abecean Sea in front and a rising ground behind. He had set the water itself on fire. It was as if the vestiges of his dream were threatening to take over his reality. Beldaburo was right behind him, was Baurus still there? Was he safe? No, he remembered he had seen Baurus run and there was no way a man that fled like that was returning. Valorus craved for a familiar face to soothe him- to convince him that the nightmare was over, but he knew that none would come. The half-submerged wreckage of a ship nearby caught the flames and started burning. It appeared as if his fear would cause him to take the world down into those dreadful plains where pain prevailed over hope.

Valorus calmed himself down and tried to put the fire out before it consumed the land itself. He remembered Dagail, the elderly mage at Lleyawin and how she had taught him the importance of controlling his power. Walking up to the water, he collected his magicka into his hands and dipped them in. The blaze licked at his arms and his face but he brushed off the pain. Coaxing out the counter spell, Valorus slowly drew back the flame he had released into his palms and pulled it all out. The burning pain lashed at his face like a slaver's whip. He closed his eyes and concentrated. "Withdraw.. Withdraw.. Withdraw.. WITHDRAW!"

Everything was calm again. The quiet breeze carried the smell of the salty waters towards him and he lay back on the sandy shores. Secunda was bright against the starry sky once more.

His mind was surprisingly lucid and he marveled at the beauty of the world that he had missed. What had he been doing all this time? He remembered seeing Hieronymus Lex at the Anvil Docks. How long ago was that? Why had he gone to the Anvil docks to begin with? He found it disturbing that he had no answers to these questions. He realized just what had happened to him and it pained him to accept that. His sanity was lost to him. This moment of lucidity, he realized, was nothing more than a fleeting glimpse into the world that was no longer his to live in. A man, when faced with loss, has many paths he may take. Denial, panic, resolution, anger, sorrow, acceptance and defeat being a few of them. Valorus had no idea what he was supposed to feel. He had felt every single one of these states of mind until he could take no more and this was the result. This was his reward for daring to strike back against the Daedric prince of Destruction. Dagon had indeed had the last laugh. Valorus laughed uncontrollably, he laughed and he laughed until his laughter turned into tears. What was the victory for? Martin was dead, the Blades were broken and he- well, he himself was nothing more than the shadow of the man he once was.

No. He was even less than a shadow.

As he lay there thinking about all the days past, he did not notice the sun slowly rising in the sky behind him. The golden glow on the water's surface shone in his tear streaked face and Valorus stood up. He washed his face in the salty water as best as he could and made himself presentable. Count Corvus was his ally. Valorus would appeal to the count to have himself put under magical restraints. That was the only way he could be sure that his power could not harm others. That was all that was left for him to do in this life. The scars on his wrists proved that the shameful end that he sought was beyond the reach of his own hands and there were few in this peaceful world with the power to give him that release he sought.

With that thought, he started his slow walk towards the city of Anvil. His tired body barely followed his wishes but he could not allow that to stop him. Climbing the small hillock that Beldaburo was built into, Valorus stood at its top, facing the rising sun. The golden glow washed over him and filled him with some form of hope. He was a man broken but he realized that despite his losses, he still had his power. He wondered whether he should have himself locked up or use what powers he had left to do some good before his time came.

As his feet began moving involuntarily, Valorus' mind became lost in his thoughts. What could he do with his powers? He could not trust himself enough to join the Fighters Guild or return to the Mages' Guild. He did not want anything to do with the Imperial Guard, or the Blades- only pain awaited him in both places. A sudden cry from behind brought him back to the waking world. He had been walking towards the city without even realizing it, he was still a way off the road. This was close to the old fort of Crowhaven. He turned around just in time to see a huge skeletal form ambling towards him, a large battleaxe in hand. The monster slashed at his chest and Valorus stumbled back, barely evading the attack. He had faced such demonic creatures numerous times and his body was trained to the point of reacting upon reflex, leaving him to survey the battlefield and prepare a strategy. Not that it took him long to do that, but it was useful to know how many opponents he had and what sort of advantages his terrain offered him. Quickly leaping on top of a nearby rock, he charged up a powerful lightning strike and threw it at the skeleton. The attack struck the undead warrior head-on and it collapsed, the magic binding its bones dissipating. Valorus leapt back down and grabbed its dropped weapon. Not wasting any time, he ran towards another rock nearby. This one was higher up and would grant him a better vantage point. Crowhaven was known for its undead inhabitants, stemming from the long years of vampire infestation. There was no way that the skeleton he just took down was alone.

Almost as if on cue, a wicked looking arrow flew towards him from the ramparts and lodged itself in his shoulder. Crying out in pain, Valorus noticed three skeleton archers aiming at him from the distance. A grin spread across his face as the lust of battle overtook him. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he stood up to his full height. The skeletons weren't very good, owing to not truly being alive. Their arrows mostly fell short of their target and allowed him the space to ready his spell. He threw the axe away and closed his eyes. Magicka surrounded him and spread out into his arms. The wind died down and the earth under him began to crumble. The skeletons, oblivious to the imminent danger, kept shooting at their quarry. Valorus began to laugh. The raw power he had generated gave him a sense of power and superiority. He opened his eyes and sent out his spell. In an instant, the very foundations of Crowhaven began to give way as the ground beneath the ruined fort collapsed. He had created a massive underground cavern to bury the undead in. A shriek from within the fort alerted Valorus. That was no living creature's cry. A lich began to float up from inside the main building, throwing various spells at its foe. Valorus swore under his breath and jumped off the rock. He wasn't going to be that reckless. Skeleton archers were one thing but a complete lich was an entirely different opponent. He grabbed the axe in anticipation and met the first summoned skeletal warrior's blow with one of his own. The difference in strength between living flesh and undead bones was apparent and the skeleton fell. Valorus dodged spell after spell while taking down the weak skeletons as he moved forward. His movements weren't as fluid as they once were. He was cut in several places where the skeletal warriors had breached his guard but he couldn't afford to lose focus. Once he was in range, Valorus swung his axe all the way back and with a mighty heave, flung it right at the lich. The creature shrieked as the axe struck it in the chest. It dropped its staff and clutched at the axe, trying to dislodge it but the weapon was so deeply stuck that there was nothing left to be done.

The magic holding up the skeletons ended as the lich's unholy magicka scattered from its body. Valorus fell to his knees, panting heavily. That was more trouble than he had faced recently. None of the undead or living opponents he had brought down had left him on his knees after the fight. Then again, he had never buried an entire fort underground either. "Speaking of which", Valorus thought, "The fort is still full of those things." He picked himself up and slowly walked up to the edge of the large crater he had created. An arrow flew up to meet him from below and he caught it. He decided that it was too dangerous to just leave the crater open, but then again he couldn't ignore the possibility of the skeletons learning how to dig. He let out a sigh, it had to be done.

Stepping back from the edge so as to not give the archers below a target, Valorus once again closed his eyes and concentrated. It was harder now since he had already expended a lot of magicka burying the structure in the first place and his feet were unsteady. Nevertheless, he focused all the power he had left into a massive fireball and condensed it. The resulting orb was still considerably large, and would probably be a bit excessive. "Better safe than sorry", he mused with a grin and tossed the fireball into the crater. He ran back towards the tall rock as quickly as he could. As soon as he had taken shelter behind it, his fireball detonated, sending large chunks of rock flying everywhere. He laughed heartily at the destruction he had just caused. Something about the entire situation amused him to no end. That wasn't to last however, because the blast he caused was more powerful than he imagined. The ground began to cave with a rumble. Valorus picked himself up with a yell and started running. He laughed all the way to the road, by which point the explosion and the cave-in was far behind him. Valorus stood by the cobbled path, caught between laughing and catching his breath. He stood up and faced the direction Anvil was in. Perhaps he wouldn't need to sully the court of the Count after all. This was one way he could use his powers. "Alright then, I'm going to need some armour and weapons if I am to do this." He laughed and collapsed where he stood, the many days of battle finally taking its toll on his body.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Divine Intervention**

He couldn't recollect how long he had been lying there. The pain in the side of his face suggested that it was a rather extended period of time. Then again, time wasn't something he was going to be bothered about. The searing heat of the Deadlands was all around him once again but this time Valorus was prepared for it. The gates between Oblivion and Mundus had been sealed permanently by Martin's sacrifice, so this was either a dream or he was special. He didn't feel particularly special so he decided to go along with the dream explanation. Still, a nagging suspicion lingered at the back of his mind. Was it possible for Martin to be wrong? Akatosh didn't exactly say anything beside "Roar" and nobody could speak on behalf of the deity with regards to the state of the barrier. He stood up and surveyed the area he was in. The Deadlands were an evil labyrinth of death-traps and lava, not to mention the monsters that simply existed to tear you apart. Valorus was relieved that the Dremora were absent wherever he looked.

Far ahead were enormous gates lying broken on their hinges, half submerged in a pool of dried up lava. Beyond the gates was a vast stretch of land littered with discarded weapons, armour and a few torn scrolls. Valorus felt a chill run down his spine as he walked closer to the site. There were great tracks in the ground like those of a giant beast. The path from the gate went directly forward and ended at the base of the tallest tower he had ever seen in his life. He looked around with surprise as he recognized where he was. This was the plane of Oblivion where he had seen the great Siege Engine during the battle at Bruma. He walked around slowly looking at the remnants of an age long past, memories of which held nothing but pain.

"The World Breaker tower", he mused, though he couldn't remember how he knew its name. The tower once stood proud and threatening, the flame of its great Sigil Stone marking its malice. Now it was an eerily silent structure, all but crumbling down on itself in its solitude. Valorus walked towards it, noting the stillness of the atmosphere as opposed to the last time he had been here, when this path was filled with a huge war machine and chanting Dremora walking beside it. The great tower looked sturdy enough, despite the ruinous appearance. He touched the doors gently and they fell forward into the hall beyond- so much for their sturdiness. He entered nonetheless, throwing caution to the non-existent winds. The pit inside still contained lava, but it was no longer the glowing, bubbling menace he remembered. "This is all too depressing.." he groaned. Valorus couldn't believe he felt sorry for his worst foes. They had been the absolute worst, but they were also proud and peerless warriors. It was painful to see all their pride brought down to naught.

"I sense you.."

Valorus was startled by that eerie voice and he retreated to a niche in the wall on instinct to avoid any long ranged attacks. It had come from up above. He didn't know if he should feel worried or relieved that he wasn't alone. With mixed feelings and anticipation, he edged towards the nearest door and sprinted up the tower through the unmanned halls- dodging the still active fire traps and skipping over various collapsed floors. On the fourth floor he stopped abruptly. "FIRETRAPS!" he exclaimed.

The plains of Oblivion were not self-sustaining. They required either Dagon or the highest ranking Dremora to exert their will to keep it standing. He paused and looked around, carefully observing things now rather than rushing ahead heedlessly. So far, during his so called dreams, he had never seen anything more than crumbling foundations and dried up magma pools. Now there was an entire tower- albeit a flimsy one. He walked up to the nearest window and looked outside. He was shocked to see the structures outside slowly regaining their shapes. The broken gates were rising back up to their hinges, the rust falling off them even as they were raised up by the unseen hand. The magma pools were no longer dry but glowing with malicious flames. The holes in the ground he had just jumped over were repairing themselves as he looked on in awe. Clearly, either Dagon had revived or there were quite a few Dremora lords in that very plane as him.

Valorus decided to walk up the next two floors. As he stepped back out into the corridors around the central pit, a surge of flaming energy shot up with a 'whoosh'. The tower seemed like it was functional once more but to his relief, there still were no signs of Dremora. Unarmed as he was, it would have been quite taxing to fight off various Dremora with just his magic. "Mortal.." came a wheezy call from above and Valorus looked up in the general direction of the voice and saw a bent form beckoning to him. Perplexed, he ascended the remaining floor and found himself face to face with what appeared to be a wizened looking Daedra. He wore deep red robes and carried a heavy wooden staff. The attire was inconsistent with all the Daedra he had encountered so far, not to mention the fact that this creature clearly looked ancient while all the ones he had fought so far had been- well, not old.

"You think it strange to see an elderly looking Dremora?" it asked, raising its head to peer into his eyes. Valorus, was at a loss for words. "I see, you are a warrior then. I thought it strange that I should encounter one of your kind in the Lord's plains when all the gates are sealed by that wretched dragon." This creature obviously did not recognize his lord's archenemy. Valorus was in luck, because the aura coming off the old Dremora was rather frightening- even for him. He also felt some relief since the Dremora just answered one of the questions that had been troubling him. "So tell me, mortal.." the creature continued, "How did you end up here?"

"I.. was at the capital.. during the battle." Valorus lied with some difficulty, "I.. passed out, I think. When I woke up I was in front of the World Breaker's gates."

The Dremora turned, "You are of the Lord's mortal servants? This is fortunate." It said mistaking him for one of the Mythic Dawn, "There are arms and armour fit for your kind past this door in the Sigilum Sanguis. Once you are prepared, I shall give you your orders. We shall reopen the path to Tam'Riel for our Lord once again. The fool bastard of the Septim and his wretched slave foiled our plans the last time. We shall not fail again!"

Valorus had not registered anything so far. He was too busy thinking up a way to escape- since he apparently was not dreaming. That was a concern too. Could he now simply get caught in Oblivion by accident? And what did this sudden rebuilding of the plane mean? Perhaps he was dreaming after all. That was when he heard the part about winning Tamriel for Dagon. Something in him snapped at that precise moment. His elusive sanity once again escaped his grasp and his mind reeled. Everything around him was red and his power was surging. He could only vaguely recognize that he was no longer in control of his body- his mind was detached and in a half misty place. He heard a guttural cry and the stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils. Valorus gagged and threw up. The sudden upheaval in his stomach brought him back to his senses and he opened his eyes to the sight of the old creature still standing where it had been burnt to a crisp. He had done that in his rage. How much energy had he expended throwing that spell? How long had he maintained it? Was it even a spell or just raw magicka? As the first pieces of stone came crashing around him, Valorus abandoned his musings and ran towards the Sigillum Sanguis to take away the Sigil Stone and return to Tamriel. Well, at least on the bright side he now knew that his travels into Oblivion were no dream.

Rushing through the doors before him, Valorus entered the familiar structure of the Sigillum Sanguis. He rushed up the hanging path to the raised platform where the Sigil Stone should be but to his utter horror, there was no stone at the end of the pillar of flame. "What in blazes!" he yelled in frustration as he dodged a piece of the roof and ran back down. This was unheard of! The Sigil Stone was the anchor that kept a gate open- he paused. Perhaps that was the problem- there was no guarantee that there was a gate connecting this world to Nirn and that meant the Sigil Stone was unnecessary and the old Dremora had said something similar as well. He realized that he had never actually seen a gate opened from the inside, so he couldn't tell at what point in a tower's existence the Sigil Stones come into play. "Curses.." he muttered and looked around for a way out, the two doors leading out were both crushed under debris. As he turned, his eye caught something shining at the base of the platform and he ran towards it. "Armour?" he asked aloud, confused. They looked Deadric enough but there were no Daedra around to wear them- only that old crone. Perhaps this was what it was talking about before it was roasted by his insane self. He decided to take it since some Daedric artifacts were known for having powerful enchantments. He was no stranger to Daedric armour- having favoured a set during his time battling the hordes. As he put on the breastplate in a hurry, the familiar burning sensation rushed through his body. It did contain the soul of his foes after all. He stumbled back as the ground right in front of him collapsed. Valorus gathered up the pieces of armour hastily and without pausing to think, jumped right through that hole. There was, after all, no other way out.

He landed awkwardly and heard something crack. The pain that shot through his left leg told him just what had happened. Biting back a cry, he picked himself up and started hopping his way towards the nearest door, most of the armour still in a rough bundle on his back. The adrenaline was starting to get to him. A rush hit him at the right moment as a massive chunk of the stone ceiling came crashing down right behind him. He turned around and to his surprise the floor had fallen and not collapsed. It now sloped down to the next floor almost invitingly. "The gods surely have a hand in this." He muttered and slid down the new path, grimacing as his useless left leg caught on some pebbles. "By the Nine! Another one!" he swore breathily as he saw that the same thing had happened to the floor nearby as well. Taking care to protect his broken leg this time, Valorus slid down the paths that had opened before him until he finally reached the base of the spire. Thanking his stars, he hopped out towards the open plains before the entire structure came crashing down behind him- and not a moment too soon. The pain in his broken leg had now become too much to bear, and it had swollen to a horrible size around his ankle.

Valorus dragged himself to a safe looking nook between two rocks and sat back, stretching his legs out in front. He bit his lower lip as the ankle throbbed with pain and tears stung his eyes. Searching his memory for a useful healing spell, Valorus closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe rhythmically. A few moments later, he was quickly chanting a long set of spells that combined restoration with a numbing to ease his discomfort. When the pain had finally gone down to a tolerable level, he let out a long sigh of relief. And then he laughed. He had almost missed this feeling. The daring escapades in strange lands riddled with death traps and unforeseeable situations; but they were always worth it- if nothing but for the exhilarating rush that came with surviving yet another brush with death. This time, however, he had a beautiful piece of armour to show for his troubles- and a broken ankle. The broken ankle too was important for there was no gain without pain.

He was getting used to the burning of the breastplate's innate magic by now. It strangely felt like this set of armour's burning was more intense than the ones he had worn before, or maybe he was not used to it after such a long time? No, even the etching on this piece of armour was different. It didn't look much like the usual armour designs he had seen before on Daedra. He donned the gauntlets and the right boot to see how well they fit. He decided to give his left leg a little time before subjecting it to the burn of a Daedric soul. Gods knew just how many souls were imbued into these pieces. To his surprise, he found that the aches in his body were rapidly disappearing. "A greater enchantment then.. Indeed." Valorus mused as he tightened the laces on the vambraces. Feeling the enchantment wash over him, he decided to put on the left boot as well. Disregarding the severe burning that came with it, he gingerly put on the heavy boot. He was right, it burned, and badly. But he was not about to let that stop him. With a little bit of trouble, the boot finally was all the way on his foot. Almost immediately, the pain disappeared completely from the ankle and he felt the discomforting sensation of his bone being shifted back into place. So his spell had been pretty useless after all. What were the odds of him finding armour with such convenient enchantments on it right around the time he got injured? Luck! A word he hadn't used positively in such a long time came back to him and he smiled.

Feeling almost completely refreshed, Valorus stood up and looked around. He had everything but a helm and a sword. He decided to leave that to the Gods as well and set out over the massive plains before him.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Self Appointed Mission**

It felt good to be back in Cyrodiil. After the terrible few hours he spent wandering the Deadlands, he was just glad to be in a world where he wasn't alone. He had woken up a few hours ago in a room inside the Chapel of Dibella. Sitting beside his bed was a Bosmer woman. She introduced herself as Laralthir. Valorus was surprised at how easily he had managed to fall asleep while there were strange people about. After those years in solitude, he had usually been alert to the point of battle-readiness even in the deepest of slumber. Yet here he was, lying without a single piece of armour or weapon by his side in the bed of some strange lady.

No, in the house of one of the Nine.

He reminded himself that this too was probably their doing. It did not matter, however, since he could not move his limbs even an inch. All the days spent in the wilderness and wild battle against creatures both living and dead without rest was finally taking its toll on his body. He had been expending energy, both physical and magical, wantonly for a while now. It was a miracle he hadn't collapsed and died somewhere in the wilds. Laralthir had informed him that he had been asleep for three days now and asked him to stay awake so she could bring him food. He thanked her and laid back in the bed, reflecting on his past.

The one thing that had been troubling him all these days was the unfairness of the gods. Martin was dead. The one man that deserved to live to see this day was gone and there was no bringing him back. Valorus would have gladly sacrificed his own life a hundred times over to save that man- and he practically had, but in the end he had failed. The Septim blood had been both their boon and their curse. It had saved Cyrodiil at the cost of its Emperor's life. Why did it have to be so? Why could they not have simply destroyed Dagon's corporeal body and lit the fires? Valorus had destroyed plenty of Dremora, both in Oblivion and on Nirn and, as presumptuous as it would sound, he felt fairly certain that given the opportunity and enough time he could have managed to bring down even Dagon himself. He stared at the stone ceiling while he thought about all this. He couldn't quite remember when he had drifted into sleep, but he woke up much later and felt surprised that he had not been taken to the Deadlands this time. The room was below ground level so he could not tell what time it was. On top of the short cabinet in the room was placed his new armour. He was still weaponless but at the moment that did not trouble him. He tried to sit up but a sharp pain in his back stopped him. He bit back a cry which ended up escaping him in the form of a sharp hiss.

Presently Laralthir walked in. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "You are awake. How are you?" He tried to smile but it felt awkward, from lack of use. "Thank you, I am still very weak but I am glad to be alive." Laralthir noticed his awkward attempt at smiling and flashed a grin at him, "And you should well be. I usually don't travel much but I was called to Kvatch two days before. Imagine what would have happened if I had not been passing along?" she chastised him. Valorus didn't reply, but merely looked at his hands clasped together. The very mention of Kvatch caused painful memories to rise up within him. Laralthir continued, "Tell me, sir, what is your name? Why were you lying by the road in strange armour?"

He frowned slightly. He wasn't sure he wanted his name revealed. His face might not be recognizable anymore but he doubted his name had been forgotten as easily. "My name.. is Martin." He said before he could check himself. "I am an adventurer."

Laralthir frowned as well, she clearly did not believe that. "Well sir adventurer, I hope you don't go collapsing by the roadside again. I might not always be there to carry you to the nearest city."

Valorus bowed his head. "You have my word, kind lady, and my gratitude. But for you I would be a corpse in the wilds now. I shall not forget your kindness." The Bosmer smiled, "Shall I bring you some food now? It is evening but we have some stew left. You haven't eaten in three days!" she exclaimed emphasizing the statement by holding up three fingers. "Much longer.." Valorus thought but he only nodded. He didn't want to reveal anything about himself, not his past life as a companion to the erstwhile Emperor of Tamriel, nor his recent antics as an insane fount of power that ripped apart anything that felt threatening. Laralthir had gone off in a hurry, as if she feared that any delay would send Valorus back into slumber. He wasn't feeling sleepy anymore, but neither was he hungry. The long year of intense, almost non-stop battle had conditioned his body into a peculiar form. Even in his weakened state, he could sustain himself with magicka and he certainly had an amazing pool of magicka to sustain himself with.

Laralthir returned carrying a bowl of stew. "It's not hot anymore but it's still edible." She said, pulling a chair near to the bed and sitting down with the bowl on her lap. "You probably still can't move about much. Would you object to being fed?" Valorus' face flushed slightly, and he tried to move his hands; anything to avoid being fed. Unfortunately, his body failed him and he sighed and nodded his assent. Laralthir giggled, "You are quite prideful for a bedridden adventurer." She teased him. "It is all that is left to me at the moment, kind lady. I pray that you will let me keep it." He replied, in a mock appealing tone as Laralthir scooped up some stew in a ladle.

Once he had his fill of the stew and some bread, he was left to his own devices again as Laralthir left. Valorus laid back and started wiggling his arms and legs so they would regain their movement. The pain in his back had subsided by now but he still couldn't budge his limbs freely. He tried to recall his self-appointed mission. His body may have been in a bad state but he was thankfully lucid and he wasn't going to let that go to waste. This was the time to make plans and to act upon them if his body allowed. He also decided that it was unsafe to remain in the presence of innocent people for extended periods of time. He was not entirely trustful of this present state of lucidity that he had acquired. Valorus recalled an abandoned house that the Count had used to hide out in while he was the Grey-Fox. That would serve as a temporary base until he could get his affairs in order. He would need arms and a source of information. Experience had taught him that information was easily available from the beggars for a sufficient price. Valorus recalled the mask of Nocturnal- but he had no memory of where or when he had lost it. It would have been rather useful to have the Grey-Fox's identity for his new quest. A hazy memory of Hieronymus Lex surfaced as he mulled upon his options but there were no answers to be found in his unreliable head. He was also worried that straining his mind would prove dangerous. Valorus concluded that as long as he had a purpose he might be able to retain some semblance of lucidity and left it at that for the time.

He was startled out of his thoughts as the door opened once more and Laralthir entered. She was wearing a white silken robe, the cloth fine enough to compliment her well maintained physique. Her hair was let down and she was blushing slightly. For a moment, Valorus looked puzzled, "Ah, forgive me" he said, realizing that this was her room and he would have to leave so she could retire for the night. "I thank you for-"As he attempted to get up and leave, Laralthir quickly closed the gap between them in a few steps. "Shhh" she whispered, placing a finger on his lips. She went back to the door and locked it, then turned to face him. Valorus was slightly alarmed but understood her intention. He was not entirely averse to the idea either so when the first kiss came, he returned it as eagerly as it was given. Laralthir climbed in bed with him, letting the robe slip off to the floor. Weakened though he was, Valorus gave as good as he was given and when they finally drifted off into sleep, he slept soundly for the fourth night in a row.

He was alone when he awoke. He felt refreshed and despite the tremendous pain in his body, Valorus found that he could move easily once again. He stood and stretched his aching limbs, going through motions that he had picked up in the long year of battle that kept him supple and fit for battle from the moment he was up. He walked to and fro within the confines of the room and once he was sure that he was fit, he donned the armour he had won. The burning sensation was undeniably stronger now. Perhaps it was because he was no longer expending magicka like in his crazed state? He welcomed the pain nonetheless- anything to stop his mind from slipping. He found a travelling cloak that seemed too large for a woman laid out by the dresser and wrapped it around himself to cover the armour.

When he walked out, the familiar structure of the insides of the Chapel of Dibella greeted him. He felt starkly aware of the fact that he was wearing the armour of the enemies of the Nine within their House. Laralthir greeted him from the benches. "Sir Adventurer! You are up! You truly have the fortitude of an ox." He smiled and walked towards the benches. "And I see you noticed the cloak.." There was a tinge of regret in her voice. The building was empty save for two women in the front. Laralthir didn't seem to be as keen in her worship as them. Valorus sat beside her and bowed his head in silent prayer.

"You revere them rather fastidiously." Laralthir observed.

"The Nine have guided my steps for all my life."

"And yet I found you passed out by the road."

Valorus furrowed his brows. "That was entirely my fault." He replied.

Laralthir looked towards the altar, her expression earnest, "I have always noticed how the very religious are keen to blame themselves for their misfortunes but are quick to praise the Gods for the good that they have in life."

"Is that so bad?" asked Valorus, looking at her now. "The Nine are not malicious, why blame them for our shortcomings? I was passed out by the road because I had neglected to look after myself. By the grace of the Nine, you happened to pass by and to take pity on me." Laralthir pouted, "So you thank the Nine. Do I get no thanks?"

"Kind lady, I am forever in your debt." Valorus said, and let his hand rest on hers. She blushed.

"There is no debt" she replied solemnly. "I did not save you out of pity. Did you think that nobody remembers the Saviour of Anvil?"

Valorus was surprised by the revelation. "Do not worry" Laralthir soothed him. "I will keep your secret."

Valorus sighed, "Thank you. I am afraid, however, that I must part with you for a while." Laralthir turned in shock at the words and the expression on her face was pained. "Forgive me, but I was on a mission when you found me, and now that I am well enough to stand again, I must resume my quest."

"Please! Rest a few days more!" she beseeched him. "At least one more day?" It seemed he could not help but spread grief even when trying his best to avoid it.

"I will return," said Valorus decisively, "But I cannot stay." With that, he rose from his seat and walked out into the bright morning.


End file.
